


The Night Nobody Likes to Talk About

by elvendorkwrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 11:07:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5203496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elvendorkwrites/pseuds/elvendorkwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a one-shot fic about Sirius Black escaping from 12 Grimmauld Place and going to Potters' house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Nobody Likes to Talk About

“DON’T WORRY, I AM AS ASHAMED OF CARRYING YOUR BLOOD AS YOU ARE!”

A thud. Young wizard’s feet trying to get to the floor, kicking every object, every solid thing he could find. Shattering of the antique vase that had been there for quite some time. Sirius struggling for breath. Old man screaming at the top of his lungs: “HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT! HOW DARE YOU INSULT THE NOBLE AND MOST ANCIENT HOUSE OF BLACK, YOU FILTH!” Sirius’ face getting redder every second. A younger version of the wizard rushing in and saying, in a steady voice “You’re going to kill him. Stop.” Orion looking like he didn’t even hear him. “Dad.” Nothing. “Hey.” Sirius turning purple. “DAD!” Orion finally easing his hold. “Get this scum out of my eyesight.” Sirius breathing as much as he can, while rushing to his room without looking at anyone’s face.

  
\--

He had had enough. This was the last drop. Sirius Black, with his long, thin legs ran up to his room and made sure he closed his door as loudly he could. He looked at his room for a while: looked at his decorations: the pictures of his best friends and the scarlet and gold banners he had tried so hard to bewitch so that they’d stay there permanently. And of course the muggle girls, half naked, with a motorcycle between them. He didn’t even know why he had hanged that. He just thought, at the time, that it would piss his parents off. And he was right.

  
He ran through his possessions and decided none of them were worth carrying except for his leather jacket and a few t shirts. He felt like he was suffocating. He was drawing as much breath as he could, but it was just not doing the trick. He saw his reflection on his pier glass: his neck was already bruised. He noticed that his pants had a few more holes in them, probably because of the vase he had shattered. He put on his leather jacket, packed his school supplies and the t shirts, held on to his wand(Yes, he would do underage magic if it came to that. He would.). When he opened his door, the younger version of him stumbled. He had been eavesdropping on his door. “The fuck are you doing?” His voice didn’t even sound like him, it was too raspy and gave the impression that he was still suffocating. The other one didn’t say anything. His eyes shifted to the bruises on Sirius’ neck. He wanted to ask him if it hurt too much, he wanted to hug him and take care of him so bad. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Then he noticed the bigger-than-usual package he had. “Where are you going? Wait, nevermind, everyone knows that. But wh-why are you taking all this stuff?” The older one looked at him with disbelief and said, “What is it to you?”. He didn’t know why he had said that. He was angry. He wanted to tear everything apart. And here Regulus was, keeping him from escaping this hell, asking him things he doesn’t deserve to know. Yeah, he didn’t deserve to know. He could go fuck himself as far as he cared, he thought. But he knew this wasn’t right. He still saw the 10 year old who gave him hugs to make it better and brought him food when he wasn’t given meals in the boy’s eyes. He wanted to take him with him. He wanted to escape from this hell, yes, but he wanted his baby brother too. He wanted him to be free too. But he wasn’t like him. He loved mom and dad. Why wouldn’t he? They never even held up one finger to him. Of course he would. He felt the suffocating feeling strengthen, and proceeded to go downstairs. Then he heard a trembling voice say, “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.” quietly, and his heart sank. Even the little bit of oxygen he was managing to get in didn’t feel like it did any good. His eyes immediately watered, and he wanted to say something, he wanted so ask him to come with him, he wanted him to know that he cared, that he still loved him. “I’m sorry.” he said, with the most casual voice he could achieve(which wasn’t casual at all), not turning around to face him, because he was sure that if he saw his eyes, he would break down. He heard Regulus say “No you’re not.”, this time more firmly and loudly. Then he heard his footsteps, going back to his bedroom and shutting his door. All he wanted to do at that moment was to go back to his brother’s bedroom, hug him, tell him he loved him, and taking him with him. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He rushed downstairs, as fast as he could, and ran out of the house, ignoring every voice that came from it.

It was raining and god, he just wanted to lie down and disappear. But the house repulsed him so much that he wanted to get as far away from it as he could. So he ran. He ran until he completely couldn’t breathe. He ran until he was soaking wet. He ran until Regulus’ voice telling him he didn’t care stopped suffocating him. He ran until the thought of being hit with a Cruciatus curse no longer seemed better to him. He ran until all he wanted to do wasn’t to kill himself. He ran until he arrived at the only place on earth that accepted him as who he was. He knocked on the door, not knowing what time it was, not thinking if they were asleep or not. A few moments later a light turned on and he heard footsteps coming downstairs, and it was Fleamont Potter who opened the door, with a curious Euphemia behind him. They looked at him for just one moment and they knew: they knew everything they needed to. Euphemia hugged the boy and looked at his bruises, thinking of spells that could be useful while Fleamont went upstairs to wake James up. A very anxious looking James Potter ran downstairs and looked at Sirius, and Sirius tried to smile, but his body wasn’t cooperating with his mind. His mouth started twitching, and his hands had already been shaking but they were on another level as James looked at him, his eyes filled with tears and the next thing he knew was a very messy haired boy holding him too tightly but he didn’t care, he just didn’t, because really, James’ presence was enough to keep him alive. They held on to that position for a while: Sirius’s sobbing got more severe, and at one point he could barely breath. But he calmed down. James made him take deep breaths, and held him reassuringly. He didn’t verbalize anything but his eyes talked to him: he wanted to say that it was going to be okay, that he would forever be at his side, that they weren’t worth a dime anyways, and he wanted to tell him how better it was going to be now that they would be together always, no distractions at all. He was thankful. He was thankful because he didn’t want to hear these things, and he was thankful that James had a way of telling these things without actually saying them. He was thankful that his brother held him and reassured him until the sun rose, and then took him to bed, and took care of everything. Even his breathing went normal again. He was thankful that he stayed by his bed all day and night, without even blinking, so that he’d be there for him if he had nightmares of flashbacks or panic attacks. And it was rough. It was one of the hardest things he ever went through. But at least he had James by his side. At least his brother was there.


End file.
